Phantom's Fairly Odd Similarities
by lynn138
Summary: Ever notice how some Fairly Odd Parent characters resemble Danny Phantom characters? Maybe it wasn't a coincidence-maybe it's the biggest cover-up of the century. The citizens of Amity Park are about to find out what happens when you run from the past.
1. Chester

I started this story a couple of years ago, but never quite managed to lift it off the ground. Recently, its potential has come to my attention and the motivation to write has returned. With the help of a friend, Phantom's Fairly Odd Similarities is about to take a step in a completely new direction and become more than an assortment of one-shots. The original chapters will remain as background information, with the story kicking off after the first few chapters.

I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in the reviews. Those are what keep the motivation to write flowing.

It's good to be back.

-Lynn

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights Danny Phantom or Fairly Odd Parents.

It wasn't until the day I got my braces off did I realize the full potential of who I was. The power I held within my hand. The immeasurable strength I had over others. And the key to controlling my destiny.

Not until the day my beautiful teeth proved to the world who I really was did the bullying end. Maybe it was because my teeth were the closest thing the wimps around me would get to Chip Skylark. Or maybe it was because mine were better that Skylark.

Whatever it was, that fateful day my braces were taken off, I became a free man. Compliments left and right, girls, a wider arrange of food choice, girls, lack of bullying, and the best part: girls. But the bullying is what I want to focus on.

Because hurt people hurt people. And the popular people hurt people.

That's just a rule.

My name is-was Chester McBadBat. I grew up in Dimmsdale, a quiet town in which my best friends, Timmy and AJ, and I were bullied every day. It took four years for the braces to come off because of how many times Francis sent me to the orthodontist after his beatings.

After they were removed, my dad realized that the only way to keep my teeth beautiful was to move out of Dimmsdale and away from all of the bullies. Although I knew I would miss Timmy (Not AJ as much, he keeps mentioning the schools that are begging him to send them an application), I wouldn't mind moving to any place in the U.S. that didn't have bullies or a banjo.

I hate banjos.

Dad and I moved a week later. But instead of a "McBadBat" moving into the new town, Dad changed our names. It would ensure that no one would trash our mailbox due to my dad's reputation. And it gave me a chance to change mine.

Everyone loves the new kid. Everyone wants to know the person and find out where the new meat will stand in the popularity status. And, in realizing this, I was able to worm my way to the top of the ladder.

I discovered I could play football and win. I found out I could get girls, and if I worked out enough, I could frighten geeks into doing my homework. Sure, I used to be one of those geeks, but who cares? If they wanted to be popular, they might have managed to make it like I did. But that was then. Now, I'm here and I'm not letting anyone get above me.

I may not be the smartest guy on the block, but I'm the most popular. And now that Dad's remarried, no one will ever know my past of troubles with Timmy or AJ or braces. I reign king over my school, and no one will ever bully me again.

I will bully them, and they will know their place in my world. Yeah, that's right punk. MY world.

Chester McBadBat may not have had the best of luck in life, but Dash Baxter is going to the top


	2. AJ

Revised-4/16/2012

When I left college and returned home, I thought my parents would blow up at me. After all, I had received a full ride scholarship to ALL of the Ivy League schools I could dream of, and I was only ten. From the small, dinky town I was from, that meant something. Two weeks later, I walked back through the house door and refused to go back.

In any logical circumstance, my parents should have done any of the following:

1) Cried

2) Begged me on their knees to continue classes

3) Shipped me back regardless of my decision

4) Grounded me for life

They ended up taking option 5, "None of the Above." When I told them that going to college at the age of ten would in no way improve my intellect without damaging my social development, they both smiled. This seemed highly confusing because any parent would be beaming with pride when they announced that their child was helping find the cure for cancer.

At the dinner table, they explained to me that all I needed was a chance to be a kid. Mom and Dad both knew that I had all the time in the world to make life changing discoveries, but within ten more years I would lose any shot of normality. For people who never made it past their B.A. degrees, they aren't half bad.

Being back home gave me more time to hang out with Timmy. We spent the rest of our summer pretending to be the Crimson Chin and the Boy Chin Wonder, spying on Trixie and reading comic books (the only books you could actually get him to read). Sadly, it turns out that he wasn't the greatest influence on me. All the days of mindless recklessness of video games and pretend tree house adventures took a severe toll on my IQ.

How far, you might ask?

Let's just say that after a year of not challenging myself, not even the community college wanted me. The only area I had any knowledge in was computer sciences. Sadly, no one wanted a hacker. My parents became angry. And not just, "You need to do better in school or you're going to fail life" angry. It was a level I had never seen before. I swear that steam was literally bursting out of their heads.

Mom and Dad were so mad that we moved FAR away. The worst part about it wasn't that I was leaving my best friend (I told myself I was just heading to college again), but the fact that the entire way home my parents were glaring at me and chastising me. They began to blame me for leaving "the path towards a great future and development of the human race." Every time we passed a hospital, they made me march inside and stare at the people who might die because I would never discover the cure to every disease.

I now have a DEEP hatred for hospitals.

There are few good things that came out of this. First off, after moving over five times in the span of two years, we settled down in a place called Amity Park. Quaint name. It made my parents want to change our names (I think it also was because they didn't want to relive the disappointment when colleges sent letters begging me to apply). So AJ, child genius, has official left the building. Enter Tucker Foley: Techno Geek Extraordinaire. Secondly, I've made new friends. Danny and Sam are great, even if they don't realize that they were meant for each other. Thirdly? My hair FINALLY grew. After years of experimenting day and night, it finally rose (My parents think that it's a result of less stress from school). Later on, I bitter sweetly discovered that I indeed did not look good with my hair. See, girls didn't seem to be turned on by my three foot tall afro. A week later the infamous red beret came into my life.

And last, but not least, I'm helping save the world in a different way. See, don't tell anyone but, Danny Fenton is actually _Danny Phantom_. Yeah, you've heard of him-the ghost kid who keeps saving all the behinds in the city. Sam and I help him every day and night fight crime and the forces of evil.

Maybe I never will discover an antidote for the common cold or figure out what can kill a virus, but I'm making a difference. I'm helping lives by preventing danger. I probably won't be able to get into Yale or Harvard, but I'm realizing that some things are more important than a fancy title.

Mom and Dad may never realize that I am fulfilling their-no, _m__y_ dream. But as long as people can walk freely along the streets and know when they hear the scream "GHOST", someone will save them, that's alright.

That's okay with this techno-geek.


	3. Veronica

Revised 4/16/2012

My heart is pounding as I slip through the window of our two-story house. It's midnight, and I wonder if my styled capris and pink tank top are in need of a matching jacket for tonight's party. A chilly wind brushes my bare arms-too late.

I can't risk going in and letting my parents catch me.

Not again. See, last time I was caught sneaking out of my room and that resulted in therapy and counseling. Until then, I had always thought that they were the same thing. Well, for those who didn't know, they aren't. Therapy asks how you feel, and counseling teaches you how others feel.

I liked counseling better, because I could always talk about others better than myself.

Especially _her_.

See, She was my life. Everything about me was _Her_. It was always about _Her_. My clothes, room, heck, I would even wear a wig just so I could pretend for a moment that I was _Her_.

No, I'm not some crazy pervert.

I'm only guilty of emulation.

(Emulate: to imitate with effort to equal or surpass. That's what the counselor told me.)

Emulation of Trixie Tang. _The_ most amazing, wonderfully perfect girl in the entire world.

I'm sure anyone with any reason would agree with me, even if my parents didn't. Apparently climbing out of a window dressed in Trixie's clothes and a wig to video tape her in her sleep is considered "highly abnormal behavior" by most of society. The day after catching me sneak out, they called the counselor. She suggested (actually, it was more of a command...) that I needed to break away from Trixie's influence.

So after the counselor meeting, Mom and Dad called the real estate agent.

The next thing I knew, my Trixie-pink room was replaced by a blank white room with a window overlooking a sign that said, "Amity Park: A nice place to live." Seriously? C'mon. Who wants to live in a "nice" place? Why couldn't we just live in another mansion? Heavens knows we have the money for it.

My parents thought it would be too much like Trixie's house. Cursing them and the nut they made me visit every morning from 9-10 (and weekends from 9-12), I slowly adjusted to my new life. To my relief, it wasn't that much different than Dimmsdale. There were cliques and cool places to hang, parties on the weekends and boys.

The best part was that I made it into the A-list. The "cool" people. The popular crowd.

And it wasn't hard. Day 1 of the new school, I reclaimed my spot as "best friend of the most popular girl" within minutes. Seriously, all one needs to do is flash around a little green and everyone instantly regards you in the highest respect. The cool part was that the therapy and counseling did work. I became my own person and didn't "emulate" my new popular friend, Paulina. I discovered that I like and dislike so many things it was exhilarating! I've decided to make my opinion known now. Even if no one cares, if I think someone's weird, they'll know it.

After a lot of thinking (and discussion with the counselor) I decided to change my name. After all, I was now a new girl. I had a second chance to be _me_, and no one else.

I don't have to dream anymore of popularity, I _have_ it.

I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not, I _am_ someone.

My past has developed this beautiful girl who shines like a star in a dark galaxy.

It has helped me realize that I am a Star. And tonight, I'm guiding myself on my own journey. Even if it begins through a window, it ironically signifies the end of an old search for perfection and the beginning of a new life.


	4. Sam Manson

Revised 4/16/2012

My name is Samantha Manson. I live in good ol' Amity Park. If this journal gets lost and into other people's hands, I'm warning whomever you are now that when I find you (and believe me, I have my ways of finding you), you will mourn the day you were born. And if you read it, then may the heavens pray for your condemned soul.

Let me start off this "journal entry" by laying down a few things, okay?

First off, this is NOT a diary entry. I don't write in diaries like little girls do. That was a thing of the past, and I'm not heading back there. Ever.

This diary belongs to Sam. Not to "Samantha" or "Sammy-kins" or any other stupid nickname someone comes up with. To Sam Manson. Plain and simple.

Maybe I should start off by explaining. But that delves into the past-oh, what the heck. It's going to come out some day, right? Eventually. And if this really is my diar-um, journal, I should probably write stuff like this down. Stuff I don't tell anyone. The secrets this Goth keeps to herself, locked away in her cold, black heart.

For example, people probably wonder why I hate nicknames, and my childhood. I guess it also explains my "Goth" look and hatred of the way money makes people act.

See, I didn't use to be "Samantha Manson". I used to be someone else. And to cross off one of the items on my list of things to get down in my diary, I hate nicknames because of the one I used to have.

I mean, what kind of name is Tootie?

I hate her. Tootie. I hate everything she stood for, and everything she wanted to be. I despise her interests and her hobbies and her...obsessions. (I use third person to detach myself from this part. No complaints, please, you wouldn't want to experience this either.)

Tootie used to live in a small town called Dimmsdale. She lived on a normal street with a normal driveway, but a not-so-normal family. Or life.

See, Tootie had a demented older sister named Vicky. Vicky was a money-obsessed freak and sadistic torturer. Kids would start legends about the horrors they experienced when they were babysat by Vicky. One turned into a TV show and Chip Skylark even wrote a song about her. "Icky Vicky" it was called.

(My parent's didn't buy that CD).

The thing about Tootie though, was that she didn't just hear about the legends from the other kids. Heck no, she herself was the author of a majority of them. Tootie had it worse off than the other kids; she lived with "Icky Vicky". Every moment Vicky wasn't babysitting and earning money, the demon would squeal with excitement at the chance to destroy her little sister's life.

Tootie was miserable. Day by day, chore after chore she would watch with a heavy heart as her sister controlled her parents and ruined the lives of the other children in the town.

But the day that Vicky started babysitting a boy named Timmy Turner, everything started to change for Tootie. See, Timmy Turner wasn't just an average kid that no one (but Tootie) seemed to understand, Timmy Turner was Timmy Turner, awesome hunk of cuteness and man in one small buck-toothed body.

Mm...I wonder what he looks like now. He's probably grown out his hair. To shoulder length, of course. And he has to have fixed his teeth by his sixteenth birthday...maybe the same gorgeous eyes...

Wait, no. I can't go back to that.

Timmy Turner was Tootie's obsession. She was, as any normal person would call it, in love. Every waking moment not dedicated to unicorns or princesses was spent trying to figure out how to get into his Secret Clubhouse for Boys Only (she once spent three days mapping out underground tunnels that ended up leading to the sewers where a giant alligator had been waiting to eat her...that didn't end well).

But, unfortunately for Tootie, Timmy had his sights on what was "popular". Who was "popular". And most importantly, he crushed on the witch that embodied Trixie Tang. I could go on for days about Trixie Tang and how all the boys of the school would follow her around with puppy dog looks on their faces. Sometimes, since I'm confiding this all to you, dear journal, I swear that if there was no other person on Earth, Trixie would go crazy without anyone to worship her.

It broke my heart. All I wanted was to be loved by Timmy. To have him glance my way with that wry grin of his that always seemed to be a million miles away in a land of fantasy. Heck, I would have been happy if he even considered me a simple friend.

That would have been enough.

If...if it had ever happened.

With Vicky's greed ruining the sanity of our family and the stupid remarks I received for my pink, unicorn and princesse themed room, Timmy's ignorance of my devotion, and the stupid nickname, I couldn't handle it anymore.

We don't talk about that night anymore. The night Vicky left.

Or rather, was taken.

What other option was there? She was clearly too evil to be kicked out of the house. She had every room monitored, how could we hide if she wanted revenge? (She would want it, of course.) And there was no way that she could stay. My older sister was everything a teenager was not supposed to be.

One day, I called the cops. I couldn't take the pressure anymore; the days of my life seemed gray...dull...bleak. I needed help. 911 to the rescue.

Detectives found the records of her paychecks, and noticed that she hadn't paid any taxes for the amount she had received (that's embezzlement). They found her pictures of Mom and Dad...well, not doing nice things (blackmail). And then they found the evidence of her babysitting escapades in green and pink boxes sitting right on top of her bed. With the help of several witnesses, she was busted for child abuse.

Relieved as my parents were that Vicky was going to prison for life, our family knew that it was only a temporary solution. There was no way she was actually going to complete the sentence. Yeah right, and I love the color bright yellow. Vicky would get out. Eventually. And when she did, she would come looking for the one who ratted her out: me.

We had to leave.

It wasn't hard to say goodbye to anyone except Timmy. I stood before him, anxiously waiting for his attention...screaming for the moment in which he would confess his love to me and end the tragic love story. After a moment, his eyes drifted from Chester's to mine, and they grew as round as bowling balls when they landed on me.

"I'm moving." The last two words I said to him. I wish they could've been "I love you", as I had dreamed of the night before, but he pushed me out of the Boy's Bathroom so fast, it was like I had been magically transported outside.

The heartache of that memory I can only explain this way... -tear stain- ...forever.

It's been years since that fateful day. We've been relocated far away to Amity Park. I'm enjoying life here, away from Tootie and all she used to be. I hate her. I hate her because of how nothing went right for her. Because of how she couldn't stand up to her greedy sister. How she lived in a pink fantasy world, dreaming of a rich man to sweep her off her feet.

How she allowed the world to decide her path until she almost broke.

Sam Manson is not like that. Sam Manson fights for good. Sam Manson understands the importance of individuality. Sam Manson doesn't flaunt money around because she knows the power of greed.

And, at the moment, Sam Manson is using the knowledge she learned years about boys: obsessing over a cute one should not result in restraint orders. So I'm playing it cool, and not mentioning any crush I may have, in case his reaction turns out like Timmy.

-yawn-

It's getting late, but tomorrow I have to tell you about this boy named Danny Fenton. And his alter-ego...a ghost named Danny Phantom.


End file.
